


Now I Think I'm Starting to Believe in Fate

by quietwandering



Category: Pet Shop Boys
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24769777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietwandering/pseuds/quietwandering
Summary: Because it delivered you
Relationships: Chris Lowe/Neil Tennant
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Now I Think I'm Starting to Believe in Fate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffeecakelatte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeecakelatte/gifts).



> There's not enough fic about Chris and Neil. That's upsetting, and I'm here to help right that wrong. 
> 
> Also, I'm really hungover and will have to edit this later, apologies.

“Neil?” 

“Hm?” The Neil in question tapped his pen lightly on his journal, contemplating. Quite profoundly. These were immense thoughts about a vast, tumultuous world. Full of shockingly awful things. Like irony. 

“Hey, d’you wanna fuck?” 

“Mm,” Neil said, mostly to himself, and gently scratched out the word _WANNA_ in large, defiant letters. Where all...hm, no. Where Anyone Needs, No one Answers. No, no, that was stupid, too. Neil then scratched _FUCK_ beneath and nodded. That was more aggressive. Angry. _That’s_ how Neil felt about the world. 

“This kinda reaction isn’t really givin’ a bloke confidence, Neil.” 

Confidence. Naturally a man’s pride must rest on his confidence: in himself, in what he does, in the life he leads. Risk of that confidence means the loss of ego. Vulnerability. Which, for the cultural mores of many Western societies, meant social suicide. What an awful realization. Neil notated all this down, sighing wistfully. 

“Mate, are you even listenin’ to me?” 

Neil frowned when his journal was pulled away and tossed obliquely across the room. There were important things in there. Irreplaceable, immeasurable _things_. Unsurprisingly, the culprit of this foul crime was Chris Lowe. “I’d say that wasn’t wholly necessary,” Neil murmured to his lap, much calmer than the outrage truly warranted. 

Chris pushed in close, too close, and there were rough hands in Neil’s hair, twisting and pulling and holding. “Neil, I want you to _fuck_ me. Do you hear me? I want you to get up, come over to the bed, and fuck the life out of me.” 

“Well, I need you alive is the only problem,” Neil said into Chris’ mouth, as their lips were pushed together in what could have been a kiss. Mostly Chris was just sucking on Neil’s bottom lip with an astonishing vigor. “Otherwise, it’d just be the Pet Shop _Boy_ , and I’d find that to be quite sad. Lonely, even.” 

“Please, _please_ shut up.” Neil let himself be pulled over to the bed and undressed, let Chris push him down onto the mattress and suck at his neck. “I’m so fuckin’ hard up right now. Nearly had a go with meself earlier at the interview when I saw you wearin’ that fuckin’ suit.” 

“I wear a lot of suits,” Neil reasoned as arousal began to shake loose from the dark depths of his mind, where it spent most of its time sequestered away in a tight box lined with his terrible fears and insecurities about sexual desire.

“And you fuckin’ look good in all of them,” Chris said, but perhaps more growled. Neil shivered and held tight onto Chris’ shoulder as he bit down hard on his collarbone, leaving reddened teeth marks on the pale skin. Obscene and wet. Neil’s fingers touched the spot briefly, felt his heart palpitate beneath. Chris always brought out this strange fervor inside Neil. This decidedly aggressive, masculine being that didn’t really present itself outside the bedroom. 

“I live to please,” Neil said agreeably. Nodding, Chris climbed off the bed and went to hunt down the necessary supplies, tossing his clothes off along the way. “Why would you even bother to check my bag?”

“‘Cause we’ve been fucking for over a decade now, Neil. I just keep bloody believin’ that you’ll someday remember to pack a few johnnies, y’know? Is that too much to ask?” 

A bottle of lube was tossed towards the bed along with a string of condoms, and Neil let out a long, suffering sigh. “Yes, well. Why bother when you seem to have that covered for me _and_ the rest of the production crew?” 

“Touch yourself. Get yourself ready for me,” Chris said, and his voice had shifted in tone. Lower, more direct, and Neil nodded, hurriedly flailing for the lube. “Put on a proper show for me, luv.” 

Neil’s theatrics were bar none as the lube was poured in a meandering drizzle down the lower reaches of his stomach, lip sucked in as the cold gel splashed across his overheated skin. Chris knelt himself over Neil’s thighs with an appreciative noise, a grunt, really, and rubbed his fingers through the slick before reaching back to open himself up with a casualness that really belied the vulgarity. 

More than a few strokes were needed for Neil to finally get at least semi-hard. The real thrill was in watching the way Chris’ expression went from that surly, impatient scowl to slack jawed concentration. Neil knew when Chris' fingers reached those pleasurable spots inside him, cock twitching and leaking, eyes half-lidded and sensuous. Desperation curled up tight inside Neil’s belly, near overwhelmed by the immense waves of desire directed at him, and he pulled just this side of too tight on his balls, digging his feet into the mattress to steady himself. “Chris,” Neil said and somewhat asked. 

“Yeah,” Chris said and somewhat replied, grabbing at the condoms with his spare hand. “Here, put one on yourself. I wanna watch.” 

Tearing the foil, Neil fumbled the condom out in what was probably the most unattractive maneuver imaginable, shaky fingers unable to hold onto the slippery rubber before it fell unceremoniously onto his chest. Sighing, Chris snatched it up and slid it down Neil's length with an impatient huff. “It’s harder than it looks, I swear.” 

“Oh, I’m sure,” Chris retorted with an uncouth waggle of his eyebrows. Neil didn’t bother to mention that’s not what he meant. “Now let’s get you inside of me already.” 

As usual, Chris got what he wanted out of Neil with unparalleled success. Their bodies joined, merged, and Neil clung onto Chris’ arms with a tremulous grasp, brow furrowed as ecstasy overwhelmed him like a raging monsoon off the Pacific coast of Southeast Asia. _Love making_ , Neil thought. _Fucking_ , Chris reasoned. 

The force of Chris’ hips, the strength in the thighs on either side of Neil’s hips, was so understated. The bed rocked with their motions and undoubtedly alerted the neighboring room to their proclivities. Neil couldn’t feel too apologetic, however, when Chris leaned in close to press their mouths back together, tongue shoving between Neil’s lips in a matching rhythm. 

“ _Gods_ ,” Chris sighed when their lips broke apart from a particularly energetic thrust. “You feel so fuckin’ incredible inside of me, Neil. Like you’re meant to be there. Wish I could describe it to you.” 

There wasn’t a need. Neil understood, could always sense, what Chris was trying to convey to him. Words seemed, at times, entirely overdone with him. Motions, gestures, touches. This is what built their private world, one all their own, one that far surpassed the dreary realm of reality, so full of rain and forced platitudes. 

Chris shifted away and Neil pushed up from the mattress to follow, slotting back in behind Chris when he turned round. Neil let his arms wrap tightly around Chris’ chest, giving in to the desire to actually _fuck_ him. “That’s so bloody _good_ , oh fuck,” Chris panted, shoulder hitting the bed as he reached down to touch himself. Neil slipped out but managed to right himself quickly and held onto Chris’ hips instead, nails unconsciously digging into the skin. “Oh _fuck_.” 

A familiar tension rattled through Neil as Chris came, loud and unashamed. Neil’s hips struggled to move as climax neared, as if his nervous system was wired backwards, but Chris began to push back, helping Neil along, far too aware of Neil’s hangups. “I think --”

“Don’t,” Chris said, breathless. “Don’t think about it. Just fuck me.” 

Neil nodded, though obviously Chris couldn’t see that, and was guided by Chris’ rhythm, like always. With only the slightest bit more effort, he was finally able to let go and hurl himself headlong off the precipice, pleasure contorting his every limb. 

They fell into a tangled pile after a moment, laughing hysterically. “This probably isn’t comfortable,” Neil mumbled into Chris’ chest, nuzzling the soft hair there. “We need to actually get under the covers.” 

“You get under the fuckin’ covers,” Chris groused, reaching to pull the condom off Neil. It was sticking to his backside uncomfortably. “‘M perfectly fine here.” 

“ _And_ we need to clean up,” Neil said forlornly. “We’re a mess.” 

“That’s nothing new.” 

“Well, you’re the one who should get up. You started all this.” Neil pushed weakly at Chris’ shoulder, huffing. “Plus, you need to find my journal.”

Chris was already mostly asleep and shrugged, reluctantly letting himself be tugged and prodded beneath a blanket after flicking the condom off the bed. “‘S not gonna walk off or something, you nutter.” 

“It might do,” Neil said flippantly, wrapping them back up in one another. “Just as long as you don’t wander off I’m sure I’ll be fine though.” 

“Nah," Chris said, surprisingly sincere. "You're stuck with me, luv. Till the end.” 


End file.
